


The Forgotten Hero Takes a Holiday

by Chuck_Johannsen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Multi, No idea what I'm doing, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chuck_Johannsen/pseuds/Chuck_Johannsen
Summary: Harry loses his memory and is sent to Australia. Shenanigans ensue. Challenge response to Grimjaw on the Dodging Prison and Stealing Witches Discord.
Relationships: Gabrielle Delacour/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Nymphadora Tonks, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter, OC/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	The Forgotten Hero Takes a Holiday

Strange things went through his mind. Terrifying, mysterious … and downright idiotic things. He remembered a dog that could turn into a man, and jumped through glowing curtains. He recalled a blonde-haired, large-eyed girl, who egged on a shy bookworm and had finally gotten the three of them together when … something happened.

He blinked, waking up. The dreams always stopped at that point, like there was nothing left to live. All he could recall was this intense sadness, and the sensation of loss.

There was a strange, virulent antipathy to the name of Malfoy as well. Revulsion mixed with regret, as if he’d saved the last chocolate frog from a certain fate worse than death, and it exploded in his face.

Harry studied his reflection in a handy hubcap. _‘Chocolate frog?’_

So far as he knew, frogs came in slimy, jumping or flattened forms. Sometimes all three, depending on where you saw them on the road. But chocolate seemed to be an oversimplification.

Sighing, he began his day. Life on the streets was not easy, but it was far better than the alternative – if he could remember it. There were places to which he felt an aversion, like that pub frequented by weird men in dresses and women in long robes. There may have been a great open minded approach by politically correct powers, but Harry understood something important.

_‘If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and waddles like a duck, there’s a good chance it’s not a cow.’_ The saying made him laugh, a stray memory from some old friend with red hair he couldn’t remember.

He tried not to dwell on them. For some reason fighting to recall something caused it to vanish, and almost never reappear. These were good memories he wanted to remember, like that one where the blonde and the brunette were locking themselves in the same room as … as ….

He shook himself. _Hard._ The memory vanished like all the others, almost like magic.

“’ere now, wot’s going on ‘ere?” an unfamiliar voice cut into the gloom.

Harry didn’t stop to think, blink, or grab the precious few belongings scrounged over the past year and a half. Instinct took over, and one hand slapped for the familiar stick that felt like home but was nothing more than a fire poker. Touching its comforting surface, he _ran_.

The law enforcement representative shouted something, his most recent appellation. People called him variations of _Hey you!_ And _It’s him!_ Or his personal favorite, _He’s getting’ away!_

It felt familiar too, escaping certain fate. Or rather, uncertain? What happened when the homeless and destitute were captured? He’d no doubt find out one day, but this was not that day!

Running was familiar too. It wasn’t as comforting as the little stick at his side, but instinct took care of emotional distractions. It pushed them away, making room for only one thing: moving. He leapt over bins and dodged between civilians with fat children and entrancing smart phones. Most never even saw him, hurling insults his way without looking up. The children were more appreciative of a young man dressed in odd clothing, accelerating as fast as a motor scooter.

He’d tried one once. Its slow rate almost got him caught, and it had been left abandoned in a street five blocks away from the pub for strange men.

Harry frowned. Everything orbited around the missing memory. He’d avoided Grimmauld Place, a street where everything looked gray and dreary. He’d avoided Ottery St. Catchpole for no reason other than the strange exhilaration that came over every time the sign came into view.

He’d avoided Scotland altogether. Men in skirts were trouble, even if they used a different name. There were only so many ‘kilt’ puns one could stand in a single lifetime.

A burst of energy detonated a trash receptacle two steps to the left and one behind him. Someone shouted a curse, along with the new catch phrase becoming so common: _”After him!”_

Harry accelerated, bounding upward along a fire escape. A white owl, one he’d seen flying around, soared overhead, angling towards a different building. Instinct prompted Harry to follow the owl – for a creature known as the _Death Bird_ , it had sometimes dropped food near him. He’d learned to eat quickly, and move on.

Another streak of red light passed a hair’s breadth before his nose. The energy made the hairs in his unkempt beard bristle. _‘Stunner.’_ The thought blinked through is brain. _‘Capture, not kill.’_

It made no sense, and like all nonsense, faded from mind.

Suddenly the ground erupted beneath his feet, but not in the traditional sense. Bars shot skyward, growing sideways and vertically to form a bars of asphalt and clay. It wrapped itself around him in a cage, trapping his movements.

A tall figure dressed in a long dress, trimming matching his long blonde hair, strolled into sight. It looked as if he’d practiced the move, twirling a stick in one hand like some fop that did stupid things in Harry’s dreams.

“Ferret.” Harry ground out.

The man grimaced. “They slapped a dozen locks on your memory, and you still break through? Why must it be _that_ of all things? No matter. You’ve been a rather large thorn in our side, and it’s time to end your threat once and for all.”

Harry touched the stick on his wrist, and _knew_ how to escape.

His motion wasn’t unnoticed. The blonde man in a dress, Ferret, looked alarmed. “How did you get that back? It’s been locked in the Depar –“

A surge of strength flowed through his arms and legs, driving Harry into a full-force charge into the bars. They shattered, clay incapable of the same tensile strength as asphalt. Harry barreled out of confinement, _free_.

Ferret squealed something in a very high-pitched voice twisting his stick in Harry’s direction. Before it lined up Harry was too close, sweeping its length across the body so its length stood between himself and the Ferret. Without breaking stride he raised a knee as the stick descended, bringing it between the hard knee bone and the place where most men had a vulnerable spot.

It was possible this man had made severe alterations to his anatomy in accompaniment to adopting the questionable morality that had him wearing a g, but Harry was willing to take the chance. The stick broke, and Ferret’s scream went from a painful soprano to heights that shattered windows and made dogs howl.

“Wear a cup, mate.” Harry shoulder rammed the other man, which had the unfortunate effect of taking the unbalanced state and accelerating its descent.

Harry ignored the impossible actions of the last few seconds and finished reaching the next building over. He hurtled up the metal staircase, moving faster as the sound of backfiring engines filled the street below – that sound heralded the arrival of more weirdness. He had to get away, _get away_.

He came out on the rooftop, and spotted the snow white owl. She – how he knew it was a she was another mystery – perched on an AC unit, barking encouragement.

_‘This is it. There are answers here.’_ He pushed forwards, then slowed, suspicious. Something was odd, not right.

“Now Tonks!” a voice urged.

He almost had enough time to turn his hesitancy into another direction-shifting dive, but failed. A blank patch of roofing tar turned into a young woman with wild hair and red robes, which pointed yet another stick in his direction. No light shot from it, yet he froze in place.

Another patch transformed, this time into the brunette beauty of his dreams. Harry convulsed, power lurching from deep within ramming against constraints like a bear fighting chains.

“Hermione get back under cover, he can’t see – _bollocks_ too late!” the wild-haired woman twisted her stick a new direction, and darkness fell over Harry’s eyes. Something else sent sparks flying in the darkness, and his hearing dulled as well.

_“Fighting it … too much …”_ words floated through the haze. _“Hurry … get … before Malfoy … visa?”_

Another voice, familiar and strange at the same time made him fight harder.

_“Quibbler sponsor … he’s awa … doing it?”_

_“..ack. … oing it!”_

Another flash, the light of ten thousand suns blotted out the darkness, and awareness paled into the light.

~~~888~~~

Harry awoke seated in a chair. He wore a pair of khaki shorts he’d never seen before, atop a pair of sandals and a shirt of odd proportions. It left his arms bare, all the way up to the shoulders, an odd style choice for anyone in his opinion. _‘Have I been drinking?’_

Establishing the fact of his apparel, he moved on to verifying the location. It appeared he was in a small room, beige carpeting doing nothing to change the tone set by tan walls and posters on the wall with such uplifting images as a kitten clinging to a tree branch, extolling the viewer to _Hang On_. A medium-sized desk occupied a third of the room, complete with the Newton’s Cradle desk toy, a miniature rock garden, and enough stacks of paper to restore a mating pair of endangered trees.

The door creaked open, admitting a harried looking man, bald and pudgy. A sheaf of papers rustled in one hand, staying together somehow as he tossed them to the top of a stack. The pile was already tipping like an incompetent architect’s imitation of the famous tower in Pisa, sliding just a fraction of an inch towards the floor. “Sorry for your wait Mister Potter. I’m Bruce, Immigration drone. So we’ve got your application, and I’m afraid it’s a bit of a dodgy solution.”

In times like these, Harry believed it best to collect information. Interesting times were happening, which suggested he be agreeable yet promise nothing. There were latent reactions that suggested he had years of practice in dissembling. “I’m sorry to hear that. The circumstances are hardly ideal, I’m afraid.”

A look of – was that respect? – crossed the other man’s face. “Thank you for that. I’ll get straight to business if you do not mind? Good. As it stands, you have no passport, no social security number, and no record of birth.” His expression shifted to frustration. “We know you were, of course, but without the identifying characteristics there is no point in trying to prove it. Congratulations Mister Potter, you’ve managed to elude twenty years of collective data mining by every English-speaking government on the face of the earth.”

“I am to impress.” What else could he say?

The man flicked the topmost sheet of paper into a waste bin. “Add your amnesia on top of that, and the fact that your citizenship is nonexistent, we have two options. Option One is that we remand you to a penitentiary, take a blood sample, run it through every agency we know, wait until some proper authority either decides to like or hate you, and then make a decision about whether or not you can stay.”

Harry didn’t like that option, especially the part involving blood. “And Option Two?”

Bruce smiled. “Popular choice, that is. At least, when I can offer it. You see, based on observations we’ve assessed your ability to survive on your own as _Wombat_ , on a scale from Dingo to Kangaroo of course.”

“Of course …” he didn’t feel like asking further question on that point.

One hand dipped behind the desk, and pulled out a two foot length of steel, sharp edge gleaming. “So Option Two gives me clearance to offer you a machete, a hat, and a free lift to the Outback. If you survive, free citizenship and health care, along with employment; anyone who can survive the Outback should find corporate Australia simple to manage. If you _don’t_ survive then Australia’s government doesn’t have to spend fifty thousand dollars on legal fees, housing and feeding and all that rot. Do you have any questions?”

That was an important point, one that demanded careful consideration. Harry spent a few second doing so. “Are there other people in the Outback?”

The man shrugged. “Some. Not many. In all honesty the chances of your meeting someone in the Outback ups your survival rates while downing your probability of succeeding.”

Harry shrugged. “Most of the people I’ve met recently have tried to get rid of me for some reason. If there’s fewer people out there, then I guess it’s safer than being here with lots of people.”

“I’d hoped you’d see it that way,” Bruce smiled. “So. Here’s your machete, I have a hat on the stand over here, and the keys are in my pocket. Shall we go?”

“Right now?” Harry stood up. “Isn’t there supposed to be some kind of shopping trip or survival training thing?”

Bruce shook his head. “The program developers believe in getting down to business. They’ve made excellent savings in the department, over fifty percent lower than what we were spending last year. But since you’re such a decent bloke, how about I buy you lunch on the way out of town?”

~~~888~~~

The _Outback_ , in Harry’s opinion, deserved another name. Something along the lines of _The-Kiln-Nature-Forgot-To-Turn-Off_ , or _Hazardous-Waste-Site-No-One-Remembers._ Insects larger than his hand made slow passes, as if threatening him away from territory. For all he knew, they were. There were also pretty dangerous lifeforms in the ground itself, like thorns and a lovely thing that looked like a cactus but fired its spines once you got too close to escape.

Harry felt thirsty, but didn’t want to risk the crocodiles. Water was critical, but so was retaining both legs. At least up in the hotter regions there was a chance of outrunning the massive creatures – mud did not make for good traction.

Something brushed against his foot. A foot that was bare for the moment, along with the rest of his body, after a recent escape from the creatures that hated being mistaken for logs.

He looked down, half-expecting to see a snake. They liked sunning themselves on larger rocks, soaking in the sun’s rays before the hottest part of the day. He was not disappointed.

~ _Ssstep on me Naked Baboon and it shall be your lassst ssstep ever.~_

Harry took a careful step back. _~Sssorry. Didn’t sssee you down there.~_

The two stared at each other in surprise. Neither moved a muscle, except for the snake’s forked tongue, which made a half-hearted attempt to perform as normal. Instead it extended, and dropped to the ground. Harry suspected it to be the reptilian equivalent to a human’s jaw-dropping reaction – which he was demonstrating at the moment.

_~Did you just ssspeak to me?~_ the snake rose a little.

Harry sat down. Hard. ~ _Did I just ssspeak to you?~_

~ _I shall take that as a yesss.~_ the snake rose a little, and began coiling its length into a neat circle. _~What isss a naked baboon doing out here? Isss it lossst?~_

Harry passed a hand through the air. _~Sssurviving. Not much elssse to do out here.~_

An understanding nod passed through a foot’s worth of neck. _~Yesss. Sssurviving. Making eggsss isss alssso important, but one cannot make eggsss without there being sssomething to passs on.~_

Harry shrugged. It was a fair point. _~Ssso what are you doing out here? Isss this your territory? My apologiesss for intruding.~_

_~It isss but you are welcome, Ssspeaker. Too many Baboonsss come here, bringing their sssoft dingosss. Tasssty dingosss, but then the baboonsss ssstart ssscreaming and ssstamping.~_

A commiserating nod came from Harry this time. This time he could focus on the snake, and yet retain his normal speech pattern. “It’s a nice place out here. The crocodiles don’t like it this high, I suppose? Lots of birds.”

The snake shuddered. _~Birdsss. Alwaysss watch for birdsss.~_

Faint memories rustled, but went still. “True,” he remained diplomatic. “Do you mind if I sun myself here for a bit? I had a bit of a sticky wicket with a crocodile down there.”

_~Be my guessst.~_

Harry stretched out on the warm rock, letting his legs extend. A moment later he almost jumped as the snake crawled up beside him, partially laying a coil over one leg. “Yes?”

_~A trade? I will sssense if anyone approachesss, you keep the birdsss away?~_

“Deal.” Harry settled down again. “By the way, do you have a name?”

_~Yevgeni.~_

“A pleasure, Yevgeni.”

_~Likewissse.~_

~~~888~~~ Six Months Later ~~~888~~~

In the average male’s experience, there were multiple levels of comfort. The most basic needs involved shelter, heat and a full stomach. Without one, the other two were of lesser value. Upwards on the hierarchy lay the comfort of good shelter, employment, and associates one could trust. Higher still came the joys of speaking or doing whatever the individual desired, whenever they desired so to do. At the current moment in Harry Potter’s life, he had a full stomach, shelter, and a warm place to sleep.

It was good. Living without fear was _very_ good. Existing with a high-protein diet, exercise and conversation was proving beneficial for his physique. Being in the sun for extended periods of time was doing wonders for his tan, and the colony of venomous serpents that decided his presence was the best thing to happen since the invention of mice made certain the security would not be affected. Snakes of different species were cooperating, from the taipan and brown snake to the shy adder, gaining the benefit of his presence.

Yet his dreams suggested more.

Harry woke with the sunrise, visions of a dark-haired young man dueling a wild-eyed woman with too much sense of fashion and not enough sanity dancing through his brain. His heartbeat was pumping like a kick drum during the solo of a desperate performer.

_‘Another one.’_ He’d grown used to it. _‘They’re getting more frequent. Wonder who they are … and why are there so many girls that keep showing up? I’m not that desperate, am I?’_

Given the cool morning, he stepped outside, careful to watch for smaller creatures. Snakes went undercover during the night, but there were times when one would come out into the open and move slowly through the cold.

Breakfast consisted of fruit and leftover meat. With Harry setting up more elaborate traps, and the snakes donating a venomous bite once per week, it was simplicity itself to ensure enough food for a single man.

_‘Single’_ , that was the issue, in part. Harry felt alone. He had the idea that female company had been neither wanting nor of low quality in the amnesiac time. It tended to make existence frustrating. _‘Still have all the barbecued kangaroo I can eat.’_

That, at least, was true. Mobs of the ‘roo’s roamed the Outback. There were also enough foxes and rabbits to stock a demanding larder – although fox tasted gamey, and weren’t worth the effort to catch. Lacking citric fruit might prove a problem in the future, but the lessons on survival that kept popping up insisted roots contained enough to compensate. So he ate the bitter things, if only so that he could hear the bossy, affectionate tones in his mind, or the sometimes dreamy-sounding voice that advised him to Look Deeper.

Very sound advice, that. Roots liked to hide deep in the dirt.

Today he decided to collect another supply of the root things that made his tongue curl. It tasted bitter, but made a delicious flour he could use after press-drying it. There was a loaf of it in the embers of his fire right now, slow-baking around a sizeable haunch of ‘roo, mashed together with the strong-smelling herbs he’d seen the dingos eating. They’d proven right before, so he was eager to see what his experiment would taste like.

_~Ssspeaker?~_

He paused, looking down. A puff adder, coiled near the fire, had its head up. Its personality bordered on diabetic, it was so sweet. Like a cat, it loved being carried around, but claimed to be a primary defense oriented snake. “Oh. Hey Snookums. Want a lift?”

_~It would be bessst. You are helplesss on your own.~_

Hiding a chuckle, Harry half knelt, lowering an arm. The snake swarmed up, looping itself over his shoulders. Its head rose, tongue flicking out and back. _~Let us go, hairless baboon.~_

Harry started off again. The time in the Outback had been pleasant enough, but his body refused to tan more than the bare minimum needed to prove he’d been outside. It had been like that back when he’d worked in the rose bushes of Aunt – Aunt … something. Aunt Thorn? Aunt Begonia? _‘Memories are coming back. Kinda.’_

There was a section of trees where shade became deep and cool during the day. At night it retained the moisture from a billabong, which itself was almost evaporated. But it served his purposes, and protected the small garden from the sun’s fury.

_~More baboons.~_ Snookums hissed.

Harry looked up. To date he was the only ‘baboon’ the snakes had talked about. How they even knew the word was a mystery, but it seemed to be a trait held amongst all serpents; the word ‘human’ seemed foreign to them. Cultural drift, he supposed.

Two tall figures stood in the distance, near his garden. One was pointing at the crude fence he’d made, and making wild motions while the other pointed a camera in the same direction.

Months of living in the bush had left Harry’s sandals shredded beyond repair. His shirt had gone to make bandages, before he’d discovered the right plants to pulp and dry. All that was left of civilization was the machete, a new leather thong attaching its hilt to his wrist, enough cloth and hide to be considered ‘shorts’ in generous terms, and his hat. Replacement corks had been needed; even the most dedicated vipers couldn’t deter the flies.

Harry eased the thong up, grasping the hilt of the tool. While not a weapon, it could serve well. The stuck had appeared again six months prior, stuck in the side of his shorts. But it didn’t come with an instruction manual, and he had no idea how to begin working with it. After surviving on his own without it, he’d decided to just let it sit there.

As he drew closer, one of the figures noticed, and warned the other. Both turned and waited.

Greeting them with a wave, Harry angled his steps towards the garden. Newcomers could wait, the plants needed watering before the sun grew too high.

“Don’t go in there!” one of the people ran to get closer. “There’s like a million snakes in there, mate!”

Harry paused, then shook his head. “Nah. Only three or four dozen.”

The other human gave him a blank look, and Harry realized he’d been speaking Snake after so long on his own. Clearing his throat, he focused on the visitor’s features – brown eyes, black hair and tan skin. “Sorry. There’s only four dozen snakes in there, at most. They’re pretty helpful.”

“Wait,” the second human stopped dead. “That’s a puff adder. On your neck. You’re dead. So very dead.”

Snookums raised itself, looking at the two with suspicion. _~What do they sssay, Ssspeaker?~_

“They’re telling me snakes are dangerous.” Harry twisted around the first human’s stunned position and ducked into the garden. “I think it means ‘awesome’ in Irish or something.”

A long roiling hiss erupted from the ground on all sides, snakes laughing. He smiled along with them, and started the rounds. On occasion a snake hissed a question, which he answered, enjoying the interaction. Snakes weren’t very reliable associates; they forgot often, and couldn’t understand abstract concepts. But they were entertaining in their own way, and simplistic minds were a pleasure after … after ….

_‘Damn. Forgot again.’_

After an hour of tending to the various plants, he ducked through the gate again. _~Right.~_ he coughed. “I mean, right. So … welcome to my little corner of the Outback. The names Harry.”

Both newcomers wore awestruck looks. “You can talk to the little buggers?”

Harry looked at Snookums, who looked back at him, sharing the confusion. “Um, yeah? It’s dead simple.”

The shorter visitor slapped his cheeks. “Altjira on a bicycle, he really can.”

“Hey, watch your language.” The other cuffed the back of his head. “Sorry. I’m Bruce and this is Banjo. We’re surveyors. Sort of.”

Banjo rubbed at the point of impact. “Um, could you tell your little snakey friends we’re not delicious? I don’t fancy getting a dirt nap today.”

Harry stared at them. “You’re over a dozen stone. No snake would try to eat you, they can’t chew.”

“Well they’d bite me all the same. How abo – there’s one behind me isn’t there? Isn’t there?!?” the shorter man made a standing leap, landing in Bruce’s arms. “Don’t let them get me!”

This time Harry exchanged a look with Bruce, whom bore a longsuffering expression. “Is he … well?”

“Just a bit of ophidiophobia,” the taller man dropped the smaller man, who sprawled on the ground and froze, face to face with a western brown snake. “Oh relax. If he was going to bite you he’d have done it when you almost stomped on him five minutes ago.”

A little whimpering sound emanated from the prone man, but he remained otherwise still.

“So you speak to snakes? Have you heard about the Australian Legend?”

Harry felt a strange sense of foreboding, but put it down to improper root preparations. “Nope.”

“Part of the Scribbler media empire, has branches all over the place. Run by some old loon in England. It was started here in Australia about the Eighties, had a puff piece about the Chosen One.”'

His sense of gastronomical discomfort increased. “Huh. Well, nice meeting you. I gotta get back to the fire.”

“You don’t understand,” Bruce shook his head. “Here,” he took off a rucksack, setting it on the unmoving Banjo’s back. The snake, highly entertained by the rapid-breathing baboon in close proximity, settled back to watch.

After a moment he pulled out a dog-eared magazine bearing the image of a blonde girl with strange glasses on its cover. It was visible for less than a second, but the face triggered a small reaction in Harry’s mind; he buried the thought before it could be eaten by the amnesia.

Bruce flipped to a page. “See, it says here that a ‘Chosen One will speak to the snakes and negotiate a mutually beneficial peace between humans and snakes, so the celebritie’s poodles will stop getting eaten and the snakes can … have their own Happy Hunting Grounds.”

Harry stared a little more. “But they’re just … snakes. Stay away from them, and they’ll stay away from you. No problem.”

“No problem?” Bruce stuffed the magazine back. “Look, the number three cause of death for a wizard here in Australia is through snakebite. Don’t ask about the first two. If you can talk, you can negotiate.”

Thinking about it a moment, Harry nodded. “Sounds reasonable.”

“Great!” Bruce hiked the pack up on his shoulders a bit more. “I’ll have a chat with my supervisor. Snake bites are up this year, and we need as much help as we can get. Um … can you ask that snake to back up a bit? Banjo is getting close to a breakdown … I think. Hard to tell with him sometimes.”

“Huh? Oh.” Harry focused on the gleeful snake, which was now leaning forward and tapping the human’s nose with its tongue. “Hey. You. Come over here, leave that poor, traumatized sap alone.”

The brown snake reared back, then sank down. _~As you wish, Ssspeaker.~_

Banjo remained still as the snake slithered around him, and into the garden. Apparently a pack of field mice had attempted to raid the more water-rich plants, and were reaping the consequences of what they’d sown. A long minute passed, then another.

Without warning Bajo lunged, tackling Harry’s muscled legs, almost bowling him over. “Thank you! You saved my life! Thank you, thank you, _thank you!_ ”

Harry swayed, using his recent exercise gains to stay upright. Even seven years of trudging up and down stairs with loaded book bags hadn’t prepared him for this. “Um, you’re welcome?”

“Thank you! I kiss your feet in thanks!” something began hitting Harry’s appendages, ignoring the dust covering them. “Thank you!”

“All right! That’s enough! You’re good!” Harry stumbled back, trying to get out of range. He sighed in relief as Bruce caught the smaller man by the collar, hefting him up. “Look, I appreciate your appreciation, and I’ve been alone a long time. But you’re really not my type. Not female enough for one.”

Bruce chuckled. “I’m going to report in. See you later mate, and stay safe.”

Harry raised a hand and was about to bid the pair farewell when the pair … twisted into nothingness, leaving nothing but a faint thunderclap behind.

His eyes bulged at the ground where two footprints stood in place. He then looked up at the sky, then all around, touching his stick for luck. Then he recalled the people with sticks back in England, and the small popping sounds they’d made. Connections made their way through his brain.

“Huh.” Harry looked down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. “Magic. Huh.”

~~~888~~~

The next day dawned bright as it always did during the summer season. Puffy clouds skirted across the horizon, avoiding the worst of the Outback, but a few braver wisps skittered overhead. In time their puffier relations would brave the intense rising heat, shedding excess weight as the season shifted. If all went according to the schedule Harry had learned, there would be great deal of evidence to its name, _The Wet_. Apparently it rained nonstop for weeks at a time … but that would also mean the billabong would fill, and overflow. The garden would need some planning before then.

He awoke at the sound of musical tones, something new in a land filled with strange new things. Looking around, Harry spotted the source in the form of a colorful bird sitting in a tree overhead. Its brilliant plumage stuck out against the foliage, almost daring a predator to try making a snack of its ever-so-fashionable self.

_~Bird! Bird!~_ a chorus of panicked hissing emanated around the clearing. Multiple heads popped up, the largest snakes rearing into threatening postures, eyes focused on anything that flapped. _~It’sss evil ….~_

“It’s a message for me.” Harry rose to his feet, walking over to the large parrot.

The parrot turned its head sideways, getting a good look at him. “Harry Potter? Awk!”

He paused – this was out of the ordinary. But perhaps magic users were accustomed to that? “I’m Harry Potter.”

The bird beat its wings, soaring to Harry’s shoulder. An envelope of thick parchment appeared in its talons, slapping his face. “Read! Urgent! Read! Urgent! Suck it up, maggot!”

“Fine, I’ll read it!” Harry caught the folded over paper, glaring at the bird. It failed to receive the message.

The envelope was the letter itself, folded over in ornate workmanship so the exterior was the letter’s back. At his touch it unwrapped itself, revealing crimson paper and golden letters that shimmered. A faint ghostly image of the seal evaporated over his hands, leaving a faint buzzing sense of approval behind.

He read:

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I will be paying a visit ten minutes after your reception of this message, if it is convenient. I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the bush myself, and am not troubled by poor conditions. If it is inconvenient, please be ready as best you can for my arrival._

_Steve Irwin_

_President of Australia, Earl of Tasmania, Sultan of New Zealand etc._

_P.S. I come in peace._

Harry tried rotating the letter, checking for some hidden meaning if viewed from another angle. There was none. Flipping it over revealed nothing but the address. Who knew the regions had a zip code out in the middle of nowhere? Or that wizards would address envelopes to ‘Makeshift Bungalo’?

Shrugging, Harry folded up the letter. He took the machete, and walked a few paces away from the front of his shelter, just where the shaded area beneath the trees met the sun-blasted region of the Outback proper. Flipping the blade over he stabbed it into the ground, a gesture of peaceful intentions or so he hoped – down here it might mean he believed himself superior to everyone nearby and ready for a challenger.

Seating himself, he settled down to wait.

Ten minutes to someone that’s measured a day’s progress by the sun’s location took very little time. It seemed almost no time before a sparkling ring appeared in the ground a good football field away. Figures faded into existence, twirling as they did, descending out of the sky.

Two figures landed, sticks pointed outwards at opposing angles, moving as they touched down. Strange colors emanated outwards, covering the landscape in glittering shadows. Harry threw a hand before himself, instinctively holding the palm outwards. The colors parted around his hand, leaving him alone as they coated the rest of his surroundings.

Content, he waited longer until a second circle of light touched down, releasing a short man with an easy smile and sandy blonde hair. The figure looked around, then made its way towards him in short, swift steps.

Harry rose as the man approached, sending the flanking individuals into combat positions.

“Easy fellas, easy!” the short figure admonished. “If he wanted to gank me I’d be dead already and him long gone. Aye?” He turned to Harry. “G’day mate. Thanks for not taking a pot shot at me. The name’s Steve Irwin, I take you’re Harry Potter?”

“So I’m told,” Harry took the extended hand. It felt calloused and strong, unlike most politicians. How he’d know what a politician felt like was another mystery for later. “Afraid I can’t help you much there.

“No worries, no worries.” Irwin looked around. Then he did a double take at the puff adder hanging around Harry’s neck. “Isn’t he just gorgeous? A puff adder, out here in the open?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “They’re sweet, I’ll give you that. But they’re also the whiniest bunch of lazy creature’s you’ve ever seen.”

Irwin’s dark eyes were gleaming. “You can really talk to ‘em? Really and truly?”

_~There are more baboons here,~_ Snookums raised its head. It recoiled at Irwin’s proximity. _~There’s one right there! Run! Hide!~_

“He’s a friend,” Harry stroked the snake’s back. “Don’t worry. He’s not going to hurt us.”

Irwin almost danced in place. “You were talking to him, weren’t you? What did you say? What did _he_ say?”

Harry let the puff adder slither along one arm. “He’s worried about so many baboons running around, and wanted to hide. I told him you were a friend, and wouldn’t hurt him.”

“Bless your gorgeous, beautiful soul I wouldn’t!” Irwin crouched, looking at the snake. “Before I got elected, I spent quite a few years doing snake rescues. The muggles still show my episodes I hear. Missus won’t let me watch them,” his face twised in annoyance. “Says it might ‘give me ideas’. But I miss making them.”

Harry extended his arms, hissing softly. “Would you care to hold him for a bit? He’s curious.”

“Can I? _Would I?”_ the gleam in Irwin’s eyes bordered on manic. “Of course!”

The guards looked uncomfortable, but did nothing as the puff adder glided across the gap to the small man’s thick arms. Irwin looked ecstatic as the snake wound itself around his arm, then passed over his shoulders to investigate the other side. “What’s he saying? Is he saying anything?”

Harry listened. “Well, he thinks you have rats in your pockets. And he’s telling the other snakes that he thinks you’re a decent enough bloke.”

Irwin looked as if he were about to cry. “I do! I do have rats in my pockets! Would he like one?”

A sigh heaved itself from Harry’s chest. “Do you have enough for everyone?”

“Enough for … Crikey!” Irwin seemed to realize that the long shapes were all snakes, watching. “All of them …?”

“Sir,” one of the guards stepped forward. “Perhaps you should take a few steps back, please.”

“Golly no!” Irwin caressed the snake on his shoulders, as if it were fine silk. “I have been waiting for something like this my entire life. Mister Potter?”

Harry snapped attention back to the man. “Sir?”

“You came here seeking asylum, right? All that trouble in England? You’ve got it. A job? Yours. I’ll give orders for you to have a house set up out here. If you can help talk with snakes, I’ll make sure you get a sun-blasted _mansion_ out here. Just … say you’ll do it?”

“Talk to snakes for you?” Harry felt rather bewildered. “Sure.”

Irwin fell to his knees, hands raised skywards. “Yes! There is a Maker!” he bounced to his feet, rotating in place. “So much to do. I need those surveyors out here again. What’s the best spot for a mansion? It’ll need a lot of room. Do we have a bodyguard on call? Come on people, don’t just stand there, move!”

Harry watched the older man start to run, then recall the snake on his shoulders and come back.

“Sorry Sheila,” he started to move the snake off his shoulders, but the serpent tightened its grip. “You can go home now?”

_~Want the rats.~_ The snake hissed. _~Stay with strange hopping baboon. Will not bite.~_

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Snookums has decided to stay with you. He promises to not bite anyone.”

Irwin stopped dead. “He said that, all on his own?”

Harry shrugged. “He said you smell like rats, and are … strange. Apparently he likes that.”

“That’s one of the kindest things anyone’s ever said about me.” Irwin stroked the snake’s head. “He has good taste. Say, do you have any family? Parents, siblings, kids?”

Harry shook his head. “That much I know pretty well. No family.”

A dismayed look went over Irwin’s face. “Add that to the planner. And a few rooms to the mansion. Bruce! Take us home! We have a contract to write up. Oh, and a passport, to rush through Legal. Get started on that, won’t you?”

Watching the group depart left Harry thinking he might’ve missed something. It wasn’t likely important though, if he couldn’t remember it.

~~~888~~~

Harry had just gotten through watering his garden, half wondering hwat he’d do if the billabong ran out of water before the end of the dry season, when a series of _crack_ sounds detonated well back from the tree’s edge. Flashbacks to London sent him diving for cover, hissing instructions. The snakes obeyed, scattering into cover of their own, ready for intruders.

When nothing happened, he stuck his head out to one side. More magic wielders were trotting through the further point, headed in his direction. Instead of the formal robes he’d seen before, or the casual outdoorswear, most wore durable tunics and what appeared to be the first set of pants he’d seen on any magic wielder.

_~At ease,~_ he hissed to the snakes. _~It is more baboons, but friends. I think.~_

The snakes dispersed, grumbling about nervous baboons and the great loss of life that could occur from incorrect assessments. He was certain the comment about squeezing the leg of yowie and bringing it to his sleeping mat was a joke – or at least he hoped.

Leading the group of men was someone whom was most _definitely_ not male. For one thing she didn’t share their uniform state of dress. For another, she seemed far better in touch with hygiene than they did, and put it all on display.

It took a few moments for him to realize her firm assets were not, in fact, bared. The fact that her apparel consisted of a few scraps of cloth arranged in strategic positions helped. Or the apparent tensile strength evidenced by the bits of string keeping said scraps in place. There had to be strong magic involved.

“Halloo the camp!” she called.

Harry waited, but didn’t see anyone move. That meant they were expecting him to respond. He stood up. “Halloo yourself. What you need?”

She jogged closer, pausing at a respectable distance. “The name’s Puck. Puck Granger. I’m your bodyguard.”

A look of disbelief arched across his face.

“Yeah, I know.” She struck a pose, flexing in all the right places. “Gorgeous, skilled and humble too. Look babe, I’m being paid a boatload to make sure you’re not going to hug a drop bear or stomp on a Two-Step.” Her eyes bugged as one of the brown snakes rose beside Harry’s leg. “Although that last one might not be needed. Anyway, these boys are here for the show, and to start construction on your house. Where do you want it?”

Harry looked down at the brown snake, which returned his puzzled gaze with interest. They shared a shrug, although how a creature without shoulders managed was beyond him. The snake dropped back into the underbrush, leaving Harry to advance.

“Well, the view from over there is pretty good,” he pointed to a spot near the trees. “But there’s a soft spot, bad for foundations. Might be better to set it over –“

“No problem mate,” one of the workers made a gesture with his stick. “We can set it stronger than Ayers Rock. Uh, don’t tell the locals that though. They get testy.”

In front of Harry’s eyes, a projection of a massive dwelling shimmered into view. The apparent foreman waved him over, the woman blessed with exuberant womanhood following close at hand.

“So here’s the blueprint,” the foreman unrolled a sheet of paper, holding it up. “The pool will be indoors of course, we can set up the rec room underground for maximum security here,” glowing cubes appeared on the projection as the plan was touched. “But this is all up to you mate. If you want to make changes, just let us know and we’ll do it.”

Harry’s eyebrows were almost through his hairline. “This has got to be expensive. Are you su-“

“Look English,” the bodyguard took his arm, looping her own through it. “The boss man said you get anything you wanted for the house. Something about you finally cleaning up a snake problem we’ve been having for over a century. You want it, just point it out. Nice pecs by the way, you work out?”

Distracted by the wide grin, and just the grin, Harry just nodded. “Uh … yeah. Um, about the whole bodyguard thing, don’t you have other work you need to—“

She shrugged, bare shoulders glistening in the sun. “Alligator wrestler during the Wet, bikini model when it’s not. Got tapped for this since I’m also a dead shot and good at keeping folks alive despite their stupidity.”

“Right. Of course.” Harry turned back to the foreman. “Um, could you set up a kitchen on the ground floor?”

“Got it here,” the blueprint expanded. “Have an island in the center, stove with six burners, flat-top range, freezer/fridge combo with enough cubic space for a state dinner or three.”

Harry focused on that. He knew something about kitchens, or at least had known about them. This looked incredible. But then another nudge of instinct pushed in. “What about a library? And maybe some space for a ranch of some sort?”

The foreman laughed. “Sure thing. You know the deed for this place is over a thousand acres? Shoot, the only reason it’s not ten thousand is because nobody knows who owns this area. You’ll have it all by the end of the week.”

Harry smiled as the workers began elaborate incantations, and building supplies began to touch down through the twirling light tunnel things he’d seen earlier. Things were starting to look up again.

~~~888~~~

Harry looked out at the former position of his dwelling. It still existed, but only as a rather beaten down patch of dry earth under the trees.

Right now he stood on a deck made of wood he couldn’t identify, listening to the bodyguard make happy noises as she swam in the Olympic size swimming pool the workers insisted upon installing. The last few weeks had been insane, President Irwin showing up in person and awarding all the things just for talking to a few snakes.

He walked over to a topographical map. As it was made by wizards, it had three-dimensional depth, including miniature representations of clouds drifting over the continent of Australia. Trees were shown as green fuzz on hill sides, growing into accurate models if the map were expanded. For now the entirety of Australia lay stretched out before his eyes, if on a Lilliputian scale.

_‘That’s Victoria and New South Wales taken care of,’_ he altered the map’s settings so the affected regions glowed a pleasant green. The rest of the map turned a sullen red, small points of green iridescence sparkling throughout their midst. _‘Half of South Australia done. Getting to the coral snakes took longer than I’d thought. But at least they agreed to leave the poodles alone.’_

The local nomenclature for certain individuals non-native to Australia changed from time to time, it appeared. Celebrities with poodles had lost many to venomous snakes, which had kicked off a twenty year hunt for a Parselmouth, to no avail. Even India, one of the famed origins for such speakers had turned up dry.

Some Dark Lord had been thorough, extinguishing potential competition. Rather like a snake, it seemed.

Harry looked back into the sky. His memories were starting to return; the benefit of reading newspapers and receiving a great deal of assistance in media management had seen to it. Harry Potter had been a hero of Britain, a conqueror of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and subsequent source of pain in the status quo – loving individuals. He’d had friends, whom had vanished off the face of the earth. Crack investigative teams had found no sign of Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Ron Weasley or even Nymphadora Tonks. The Aurors were sending search parties of their own, albeit with less finesse and greater urgency.

A snake coiled around the corner post of the deck raised its head. _~The pink-bottom baboon approachesss.~_

Harry accepted the warning, and sat down, waiting. It didn’t take long.

“Harry,” Puck Granger – no relation to the Hermione he’d known – came into view. Her preferred clothing style was abbreviated, even for an open minded wizard such as himself. “The President called. He needs to speak with you about something … well, important.”

Harry nodded. “President Irwin is always welcome here. Will you be present?”

She fidgeted. “Well, I better not actually. This one is … sensitive. You can rub sun lotion on my back later, ‘kay?”

He failed to react, leaving her disappointed. Weeks of flirting had inured him to innuendo. The cold showers helped, too.

A short time later President Irwin strode onto the deck, puff adder draped over both shoulders like a boa of other kinds. “Harry! Glad you could see me!”

He shook the man’s hand, as expected. It was calloused and hard, not like the politician hands he’d shaken long ago and far away. “Always a pleasure, Steve. Want anything to drink?”

“Got any beer?”

The requisite bottle floated from within the kitchen, landing in the short man’s hand with a condensation-enhanced smack. “Cheers.”

Harry raised his own bottle. He waited until a few obligatory comments about the weather and politics were traded, both of which had not changed their idiotic stances yet, before placing both elbows on the table, balancing his hands against each other. “Much as I like your company, I’m sure you are a busy man. What can I do for you?”

Steve paused, and sighed. “See, it’s like this. You’re the last Parsletongue in existence. Not just here, everywhere. There was one in the Americas, but he got hit by some rioter in Oregon. That Dark Lord Voldemort took out all the competition in Europe, and Dark Princess Ran of Ley killed the rest in Asia. Nasty business, I hear the muggles are disguising some of the die-offs as some kind of pandemic or genocide or something. Not too far off.”

A moment of sadness passed through Harry. He pushed the bottle away; he could be a melancholy drunk if he dwelled too much on the past. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Us too,” Steve answered. “You’re doing wonders Harry, but you’re just one man. You can’t take care of all the snake problems in Australia, let alone the rest of the world all by yourself. There are naga in India that need help, merfolk up in Singapore that are demanding assistance, and that’s just the closest top two.”

Harry didn’t see anything objectionable to the statement. Being needed was great for job security, after all.

“So you are declared a National Treasure.” Steve lay out a sheaf of papers on the table. “Round the clock protection detail, guaranteed income and a bit of a problem that only you can solve.”

Harry picked up the papers, rustling through them. The first few were ornate bits of parchment, detailing his activities in florid terms, bestowing titles and similar phrases. But the third page down had his jaw dropping in shock. “What …?”

Steve smirked. “The first hundred volunteers. Parseltongue is only passed down through genetics, and there are literally thousands of women fighting to carry that gene. Most are willing to go through the traditional proof of strength and endurance in the classical Australian fashion: mud wrestling.”

“I’m sorry … what?” Harry looked up. It was hard, most of the images appeared selected for candid activities, and charming smiles.

“Mud wrestling. I hear it’s popular amongst muggles too, but witches can use magic. It’s quite the scene … but there are a few at the top of the list that helped make this possible.” One calloused finger tapped at a series of names above the pictures.

Harry read them.

_Hermione Jean Granger_

_Luna Kirkpatrick Lovegood_

_Gabrielle Delacour_

_Nymphadora Tonks_

He gulped. “These … your people couldn’t find them. Are they …?”

Steve smiled, and stood. “I better go now. You have a lot of catching up to do.”

There was just enough time for Steve’s portkey to activate before a series of high-pitched squeals emanated from the doorway into the house proper. A group of faces he’d not seen in what seemed like forever piled out of the doorway, tackling Harry in a pile he’d once considered the closest thing to heaven.

He found his opinion had not changed in the slightest.

~~~888~~~ Hogwarts, Scotland, Ten Years Later ~~~888~~~

Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, son of Abraxus Malfoy, of the long and honorable line of Malfoy, scowled at the Scotswoman sitting in _his_ chair. Bad enough Potter had managed to reach Australia alive, but this? “The Board has confirmed my position. You have no right to deny me the Headmaster’s chair.”

McGonagall had the gall to snort at him. “The Board can remove the acting Headmaster it’s true. But they do not have the power to overrule the Acting Headmaster’s veto, _or_ ignore faculty suggestions. If I were to let you sit in that chair, you would be suffering a fate far better than you deserve, but bad enough to cause the Board yet another collective aneurism.”

Scowling, Draco disguised his stomp across the room to another chair as heavy walking, letting his footsteps thunder on the floor. As he left the diminutive shrimp of a Charms professor charged through the door, almost tripped him, and passed by without even apologizing!

At least he’d gotten rid of Potter at long last – an amnesic, magic-bound wizard with no tools had no hope of surviving the death trap natives barely dealt with despite all the help of their magic. With the end of that Family the Slytherin line would pass on to the nearest distaff line, and the political, social and financial benefits therein. Without a parseltongue, all magics based on that blasted magic would falter, which meant the entirety of the Hogwarts security system would become as holed as Swiss cheese. The whole rank of Albion magic, intertwined as it had been with Hogwarts, would become biddable to the right person.

Then. _Then_. He would be able to resume his meteoric rise. The noble son of Malfoy, bereft of parents in a mysterious house fire, would become the _de facto_ leader of Hogwarts. Through that, all the children would need his approval, and his influence would grow still greater. Once he had access to the Ministry’s Stone of Merlin ….

Sounds of shock caught his attention, from the midget professor hefting a large tome to the Headmaster’s desk. Draco craned his neck; it looked like the school Registry – another treasure he’d kill hundreds to get his hands upon.

“Minerva! You have to see it!”

“What is it Filius? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” McGonagall’s words sounded firm, but her posture screamed the opposite. “Wait. Is this the attendance list?”

Flitwick nodded. “I was checking it for the students in upcoming years. We’re going to need to make a few changes.”

“Whatever for?” McGonagall started flipping through the registry. “We’ve managed to survive the last decade without … without … sweet Merlin. Sweet Merlin, Morgana and Nimue!”

A slow, almost reverential look was etched over Flitwick’s expression. “Exactly. It appears the funeral for Mister Potter was … premature. His children are in line for the next three years, at least.”

“Hundreds …” McGonagall’s finger ran down a list. “A thousand? Potter … what have you been doing?”

Draco took decisive action. There was only one way to react to such terrible news. He fainted.

* * *

_A/N: Not as funny as I’d hoped, but I’m a work in progress. Fun to write, weird to read. Hope you enjoyed!_


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